God Must Be A Painter
by angelofboox
Summary: This is my first proper fanfic. It sucks. Really. Dont read it. RH naturally. Post-Hogwarts.


Disclaimer: I own a some teddies. A few pairs of socks. Several hundred books. If I owned Harry Potter would I be sitting here at my laptop writing fanfiction??? I think not. I apologise in advance for all spelling and grammar mistakes, yes I've ripped off everything, name is from 'A Beuatiful Mind'. Interesting movie.

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**'God must be a painter. Why else would we have so many colours?'**

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**chapter one**

He took a steadying breath and knocked on her door. She'd always wanted to live in a house like this, he knew. She was living her dream. A small place in the middle of nowhere, far enough from prying Muggle eyes, where she could work in peace, concentrate, surrounded by silence. The house stood alone, beside a barely driven road, overgrown with ivy. He had doubted there was anybody for miles around, and had apparated right in front of her door. Doubtless, she would apprehend him for it if he told her how careless he'd been.

'Yes?' Ron jumped. She was standing in the doorway. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed her open the door. She was looking at him disapprovingly, probably annoyed at being interrupted by him. No, Ron corrected himself, she would be annoyed at anyone who disturbed her. Not just him.

'Hi,' he said.

'What do you want, Ron?'

'I…I just…came to say hello.' It sounded weak. They both knew it wasn't the real reason. 'Listen,' he said desperately, before she could slam the door in his face, 'do you wanna go for a walk?'

She gave him a long, hard look before turning around and walking back inside the house. He followed her inside, closing the door quietly behind him. The house hadn't changed since he'd been there last, although that hadn't been long. There were still papers scattered across every table, her research, and everything else was in a neat, tidy order…as always. He waited by the door as Hermione emerged from the kitchen, grabbing her cloak and taking her wand out of her pocket.

'Come on,' she said, walking out the door. Ron walked out behind her and watched as she performed a quick locking charm, which he knew nobody but a few select people knew how to break. They began to walk at a steady place, Ron watching the ground beneath his feet, Hermione staring straight ahead of her.

After 20 minutes they reached the summit of the hill, where they stopped. The sun was blazing, beating down upon them, evidently showing the hot summer that had already began.

Ron sat down on the grass, arms resting on his knew. He felt Hermione sit down next to him. It was beautiful. They could see for miles, the fields the trees…and all was quiet. No birds sang, no leaves rustled, no voices spoke. It was as if the world was frozen in time. Perfect, yet wrong…as if the world was broken somehow, cracked, marred…Hermione broke the silence first.

'I sent him an owl.' The barrier between them was broken. For a second she thought he wasn't going to respond. He sighed.

'Me, too.'

'I didn't know whether I should…I wish he was here. I miss him, Ron. Can't we bring him back? Tell him! We can go over there an-'

'Harry needs time alone. We can't force him to do anything. He needs to think. Without us. I miss him, too,' he added.

'I don't know whether he wanted it…or not…'

'I'm sure he loved it, Hermione. What did you send him?'

'A letter, a card, and a signed copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.'

Ron's head snapped round to look at her. 'What?!' he spluttered. 'How come I never get anything that good?'

'Don't be silly, Ron. Of course you do.'

'No I don't! Like what? When have I ever-'

'He needs it more than you do, Ron.' They both fell silent and looked back over the landscape.

'Taking favourites…' muttered Ron, under his breath.

'Ron Weasley, don't you _ever_ say a thing like that again! You _know_ I don't believe in favouritism!' She glared at him, her anger evident.

'Yeah, yeah…Harry's always been your favourite…no need to deny it, Hermione.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' she said quietly, looking away. 'If anyone was my favourite it would be you…' She didn't think he had heard her. They sat in silence a little while longer.

'Where did you get it, anyway?'

'Get what?'

'The book.'

'Mr. Ollivander told me of a friend he had who knew Kennilworthy Whisp's neice.'

'Oh. What were you at Ollivander's for?'

'I was…nothing. I wasn't doing anything.'

'Oh.' He should've known she'd get him a book.

A raindrop fell on Ron's nose. He looked up, and saw that a few clouds had blown over to them while they had been sitting there. He stood up, before they were caught in a shower of rain. He didn't feel like apparating straight away. He held out a hand to Hermione and she grasped it, pulling herself off the ground. Her hand was warm, soft. He didn't let it go. His eyes scanned the horizon one last time, before turning back.

After a few minutes of walking, Hermione stopped mid-stride, hand still locked with Ron's.

'Look,' she breathed.

Ron looked. 'A rainbow,' he smiled.

'God must be a painter. Why else would we have so many colours?'

He squeezed her hand. 'Yes,' he replied. 'He must be.'

'Happy birthday, Harry,' whispered Hermione, to the skies.

'Happy birthday, Harry,' whispered Ron.


End file.
